Il Mentore
by Kovitlac
Summary: The two young Auditore boys, suddenly finding themselves without a father, are raised in the ways of the Assassin Order.
1. Death of a Father

**Chapter 1**

**Death of a Father**

"And so we speak our parting words, in accordance to our Creed." The Assassin Geronimo del Sarto spoke in a quiet monotone, his voice echoing off the stone and marble slabs making up the small Tuscan church. What light remained from the setting sun shown through the brightly stained-glass windows before spilling across the floor. The Assassin took in a breath, eyes drifting over the pair of young men dressed in their fine black robes, before bowing his head.

"It is with great humility and honor that we stand here, as one, to say good bye to our friend, father and brother in blood. He who acted as a Guide and Noble Protector for us all. He who shed his own blood, in hopes of one day achieving true Peace." He cleared his throat. "_La shai hakeeiki, kol shai mubaah. La wa kulu shey'a haqeeqiyum shey'in mubaah. __Requiescat in pace_, my oldest friend." He raised his eyes, peering out from beneath the cowl of his own darkened hood. He spoke not to a cathedral filled to the brim with Catholic worshipers on a Sunday morning, but to a few more than a half dozen people, in a tiny chapel in Monteriggioni, on a chilly fall evening. How fitting, he mused, that just as the sun sets on the late autumn season, so it does on one of the greatest Assassins of their time, and his most trusted friend, Cirano Auditore. Geronimo watched as the two grim-faced boys, Cirano's teenage sons, rose as one to take their place as pallbearers. He himself nodded to the priest before leaving the side of the casket and making his way over to the grieving widow. He knelt beside his dear Natale, a woman he looked to as his own sister, and took her hand in his.

"Do not cry." He lightly touched her hair. "Be strong for your boys." The woman tilted her head upward, managing only to raise one corner of her mouth in an attempt to smile.  
>"I know… If only it were as clear to me how to carry on from here." She spoke softly, both due to her emotional pain and to her natural Sardinian upbringing and tongue. She chewed on her lower lip as her gaze lingered on her only two children, Mario and Giovanni.<p>

"…but…tell me how a single mother may raise two strong-willed teenagers without her husband." She continued, sucking in a deep breath. Geronimo chuckled softly, clasping her hand in his.

"With patience, Natale. With patience, and with strength."

The two somber-faced boys, followed by the short, if meaningful processional, carried the casket of their father to his final resting place: Il Tomba di Famiglia Auditore. Their mother followed the boys inside, aided by Geronimo's steady arm, lacking stability of her own through both grief and years of illness. She wiped her eyes as they came across a small stone chamber cut into the wall – only one of several dozen outcroppings located in the vast, underground crypt. Only once had she ventured here in the past; when her young brother died on the day of his nineteenth birthday. Now she was here to pay her final respects to her husband of thirty-seven long but blessed years.

Geronimo gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before raising his head to nod at the boys. Both Mario, 16, and Giovanni, 14, worked together to lower their late father's decorative wooden casket into the solid stone sarcophagus resting in the small nook, emblazoned with the triangular carving of the Assassin symbol. Finished with their grim task, the boys slid the heavy lid closed before stepping back to join their mother and their new mentor.

What light had struggled to follow them into the darkened depths of the mausoleum wilted and died as silent minutes ticked by. The sun has indeed set on Cirano Auditore, Geronimo thought to himself. Tomorrow it will rise again on both Mario and Giovanni, the newest members of the _L'ordine dell'Assassino_.


	2. Battle Weary

**Chapter 2**

**Battle-weary**

The sudden clash of steel against steel shattered the early morning silence, scattering the pigeons that roosted in the rafters of the Villa Auditore. Geronimo grinned and clapped his hands enthusiastically. "_Bravisimo!_" He cheered, extolling the two young assassins under his tutelage. The boys sparring in the outdoor ring didn't give pause, but both felt a little swell of pride thanks to their mentor's praise.

It had been two months since they buried their father. In the days and weeks since then, they'd seen very little of their mother. Geronimo saw to her continued care, and visited her daily in her chamber. But the boys saw her very little. Geronimo assured them that she'd be alright – she just needed more time, and seeing her sons only served to remind her of the husband she lost.

"People all handle grief differently." He told them during dinner one night, a week after the funeral ceremony. "Some cling to those around them, unable to let them go lest they themselves also disappear. Others, like your mother, try so hard to be strong, they push away anything that might cause them to feel further pain. Neither way is wrong," he said with a gentle smile, "and sometimes still others will swing back and forth between the two." He shrugged, leaning back to allow the dining room servant to refill his wine glass.

The teenagers looked to each other uncertainly. Geronimo continued. "…and then there are those who pretend they are not affected by grief in any way." He eyed Mario, and then Giovanni, and both guys squirmed uncomfortably in their seats. Geronimo cleared his throat.

"I know you were not particularly close to your father. I will admit – he was a harder man then I am. Sometimes, I worried that he was pushing you boys too hard." He stared thoughtfully into his glass, watching the liquid still and become as smooth as marble. Then he seemed to break free of his trance and chuckled. "_Certo_, it's no easy task. This I understand all too well." He stood, bracing his palms against the firm oak table.

"Finish quickly, boys. Tomorrow we return to your training. We'll see how far we manage to get before my sanity abandons me completely!"

_How more right could I have been?_ Geronimo mused, now. _These boys fight and argue almost every day, and they eat so much poor Isa is barely manages to keep up with her cooking!_ He couldn't help but smile though, as he watched Mario charge with his sword, and Giovanni parry his attack. The boys did much to remind him of himself and Cirano, when they were young. Although not brothers, or even relatives for that matter, the two had been close throughout their entire childhood. The bond between them had only strengthened as they went into their adult, and then their late-adult, years. _But how different we were._ Mario reminded him too much of his own father; blunt, forceful, and more than willing to rely on his size and intimidation when needed. Meanwhile, Giovanni couldn't have been more like Geronimo himself. Patient, watchful, and always one to favor speed and agility. It was no wonder Cirano had always favored his eldest son – he saw in Mario exactly what he had been like at that age.

Geronimo thought back with amusement on the day he listened to Cirano hatch one of his most interesting training ideas, to date…

"Geronimo!" Cirano Auditore's baritone voice came as a deep rumble. He motioned for his friend to sit down. Geronimo grinned, seating himself across from his friend and benefactor. Cirando cleared his throat.

"My boys have been training for over a year now." He began. "And most days I feel _eh, they're getting there. _But it's time they were given their first mission alone." Geronimo shifted in his seat, leaning forward. He knew better then to interrupt.

Cirano continued, leaning back. "My boys aren't going to trick guards or steal trinkets from the purse of a nobleman." He wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Geronimo, you will play a very important role in this."

"And?..." Geronimo couldn't help himself – he leaned forward even more. Cirano went on.

"You know how hard I push those boys. And I know oftentimes, you do not approve." He tilted his head back, staring up at the heavily textured ceiling. "Likely, you won't approve of this, either… I want you to kidnap one of my sons."

He lowered his eyes to see his friend gaping at him. Cirano frowned, still thinking. "It'll be a good test for the two of them. Take Mario – I'd like to see how Giovanni manages when he cannot look to his elder brother for guidance." He stood. "Understand?"  
>"Cirano, you…can't be serious… They'll be terrified-"<p>

"Yes." He pressed his palms against the table. "I am counting on that." He began to leave. Then he paused. "Realize this, Geronimo. If anything happens to me, it will be you raising my sons. I want you to be hard on them. Push them, as I do. It may save their lives, someday. Make everything I've put them through worth it."

Geronimo stood up, brow heavily furrowed. Already he was dreading this assignment. But he trusted Cirano – maybe this _would_ be a good learning experience for Mario and Giovanni.

He followed his friend out of the study. "They are going to hate you, you realize." He said darkly. "Likely until the day you die." Cirano's serious expression broke and he chuckled. But he nodded in agreement.

"Until the day I die."

_I wouldn't say now that they _hated_ him…_ Geronimo thought now, watching the boys skirmish against one another. _But the relationship certainly was tumultuous._ Cirano hadn't been an easy man for anyone to get along with, much less his own sons. He had no idea how Natale had put up with the man for so many years.

He snapped out of his daydream, hearing a loud yell from the inside of the ring. Mario sat rubbing his sore backside while his younger brother by two years leered over him, the flat side of his sword pressed against his older brother's throat. Geronimo grinned and jumped over the rail, making his way over to the two.

"_Molto bene_, Giovanni." He praised. "You used your agility to get the upper-hand. You remind me of myself, when I was your age." He nodded, and Giovanni backed off of his 'victim'. Mario growled and jumped back up to his feet, preparing to strike and earn back at least a smudge of his dignity.

"Mario!" Geronimo hissed. The boy froze. His mentor moved around him, giving his dark tunic a sharp, backwards tug. Mario complied and reluctantly backed away from his brother, lowering his blade.

"Giovanni is the victor this round. He used tactics and speed to outmaneuver you." He circled both boys before standing between them, hands clasped behind his back.

"I want each of you to use your strengths, but acknowledge and understand your weaknesses." He glared warningly at Mario, who was glaring daggers at his brother.

"…and you DO have weaknesses. Both of you." He dropped his hands. "Mario, you focus too heavily on brute strength. It makes you a great _mercenario, o soldato_. But a poor Assassin." He noted Mario's angry expression. Perhaps he was being harsh. At least he wasn't hiring thieves to kidnap one of them. Or worse – giving them false praise that would go to their heads.

"Giovanni, you did win this battle – I grant you that. But you are just the opposite of your brother. Where he is daring and bold, you are timid. If you continue to wait too long to strike, your opponent may already have the upper hand." Standing between the two teenagers, Geronimo pulled out his own sword.

"Attack me."

Mario and Giovanni looked at him, startled, than traded blank looks. Geronimo lowered his head, his dark gray hood falling over his eyes.

"I will not repeat myself."

Mario shrugged, than raised his own sword. He ran at his teacher, blade slicing through the air in wicked arcs. Geronimo stood stock-still, until he whirled at the last second, Assassin robes flowing out around him as he twisted to the side, evading the sharp blade by mere inches. Mario skidded past him, kicking up dust from the floor of the ring. Geronimo faced him once more, looking so obnoxiously relaxed and composed it made Mario grit his teeth. This time his brother Giovanni attacked beside him, flying at their teacher from the side, while Mario went for the legs, meaning to trip him up.

Geronimo faked left, side-stepping the younger Auditore's attack before managing to leap directly over the head of the elder brother. He landed smoothly, striking out with his booted foot and kicking Mario painfully in the ribs. Giovanni landed and leaped again, only to be viciously smacked out of the air by the flat of Geronimo's steel.

Both boys climbed to their feet, taking a moment to regroup and rethink. Geronimo stood waiting across the arena. He hadn't even broken a sweat, much to the boys' frustration.

"Attack." He repeated, grasping the hilt of his sword in his hand. The boys traded looks once more, than flew at their teacher as one. Geronimo twisted and ducked, bringing his elbow around to hit Giovanni in the jaw, then spun and parried a powerful blow from Mario. He dished out a boot kick to the stomach, than used the brother's bent-over form to flip over him before dealing out a second kick to his side. One Auditore down, Geronimo set his sights on the slighter-built of the two.

Giovanni set his jaw and narrowed his eyes. Instinctively he inched his way between the two, Geronimo to his front, his brother to his back. Geronimo gave a thin smile from under the brim of his hood. Giovanni frowned, watching his teacher carefully. Geronimo's words came flooding back: _You do not strike fast enough. You are too slow. Sooner or later, you may realize your opponent has already taken the upper hand…_

He broke into a sprint, sword raised. Geronimo withdrew into a crouch, than fell to the ground as his student drew close. He kicked out, watching in admiration as his pupil adjusted on the fly and jumped over him. Giovanni aimed and kicked, his boot hitting the broadside of Geronimo's sword and kicking it away. Geronimo twisted around on his backside, managing to entangle Giovanni's feet when he landed. Giovanni hit the ground hard and flipped over-

-only to find his teacher's hidden blade at his throat.

Giovanni stared hard at his mentor, exhaling in sharp, tired gasps. Geronimo arched a single brow. It was a long, tense moment before Geronimo sheathed the blade, and offered his hand to his student. Giovanni hesitated, than took it, rising painfully to his feet. Mario regarded him from the other side of the ring, likewise covered in bruises. Geronimo nodded his dismissal – they were finished, here. He watched the boys limp their way across the arena, then up the steps and into the Villa Auditore. He looked down at his robes, covered in dust and grim from the skirmish.

"_Il buono lavoro, i ragazzi… Bene._"


End file.
